


'Til There Was You

by SamanthaStephens



Series: Whatever You Want To Do [3]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Bottom Eames, How it all started, M/M, Prequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-27 15:11:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/663431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamanthaStephens/pseuds/SamanthaStephens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a prequel. It's set in the cannon-compliant world of Whatever You Want To Do, before Arthur and Eames even started dating. </p><p>It's Arthur's birthday and he's realizing that he's probably going home alone. But a chance meeting with Eames has him thinking about future opportunities.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Arthur should be in the best of all possible moods. It's his birthday. He's out for dinner, drinks and--probably--dancing, with the gaggle of the friends he's managed to cobble together for the occasion. Looking at the group, he's honestly kind of surprised that he's managed to make a few new friends this year, given the long hours he works with Dom and Mal, not to mention the frequent travel. 

He's putting on a good show of bonhomie for the occasion, but he's secretly fuming. Marc, his friend and occasional fuckbuddy, just bailed on the group after their meal. He apparently feels _tired_. And that means Arthur is probably not getting laid tonight. On his fucking birthday. That should be against he law or something. 

It's possible, of course, that he could pick someone up before the night is over. 

But even a year out of the Army, Arthur's still wary of casual encounters. He can't shake the feeling that going home with the wrong person could somehow destroy his career. It's stupid, considering his current employers could not possibly care less about his sexuality--in fact, he suspects Mal likes him better for it. But after nine years under the constant threat of being kicked out of school or losing his job if he chose to trust the wrong person, well the fear is basically ingrained at this point. 

He looks around at the rest of the group. Luke is straight, and being an incredibly good sport. Tanya is a girl. George and Roger are a couple. That just leaves Ben, who is not at all Arthur's type, but has made it clear that Arthur is his. Even in desperation, Arthur isn't quite willing to upset the delicate balance they've made of the situation. 

Screw Marc for being such a bastard. Arthur is quite sure that's he's doing it to prove a point about he and Arthur _not_ being in a relationship. What he doesn't seem to understand is that Arthur doesn't want doting boyfriend and rose petals and candles and romance for his birthday. He just wants to fuck someone hot whom he can trust just enough not to make trouble for him down the road. And Marc just so happens to fit that bill to a T. 

Tanya forces Arthur out of his secret pout by placing a drink in front of him with a flourish and launching into a reminiscence about one of Arthur's birthdays in high school, when they'd first become friends. It was not Arthur's favorite story about himself. But it was far from the worst she could tell. (Hello, crying actual tears over an unrequited, unacknowledged, crush on the manager of the school's annual charitable art fair. How embarrassing. How far from the man he is today.) 

At the end of the round, Ben suggests heading to another bar down the street, and they pile out into the balmy air. Arthur is glad to leave, so he can separate himself from the scene of Marc's departure and his own thinly concealed irritation over it. 

He's laughing at George's impression of his own mother, head thrown back into the wind, when he bumps smack into a well-muscled chest. 

"Pardon me," a British voice purrs. 

Hold the phone, Arthur knows that voice! It's Eames, sometimes called Charlie, the shady guy who Dom and Mal take on for freelance jobs sometimes, because no one else working dreamshare, legal or otherwise, can do quite what he does. 

"Hey," Arthur says. "I know you." 

"So you do," Eames-slash-Charlie says. 

Arthur isn't quite sure of the etiquette for running into one's almost-certainly criminal acquaintance on the street. He's pretty sure he shouldn't use any names, in case Eames-or-whatever is going by something else today. He's also not sure if he should introduce him around to the group. And if he does, how he should say they know each other. 

He's sober enough to pretend that he's forgotten the other man's name. 

"Remind me again ..."

Eames-as-he's-most-often-called grins fit to burst, clearly impressed with Arthur's read of the situation.

"Robinson," he says, holding out his hand for a shake.

"Right, right. How've you been, _Robinson_?" 

"Just Robin, thanks. Oh splendid, really. You?"

Arthur's friends are watching them with curiosity. Tanya takes it upon herself to interrupt, since none of the guys would want to give the impression of cockblocking Arthur, just in case this guy is a former lover or one-night stand.

"We're out celebrating Arthur's birthday!" she chirps. 

"Is that so. ... Well then you must let me buy you a celebratory drink."

"Oh you don't have to," Arthur defers. But then he immediately worries that "Robin" will think he's being dismissed, so he adds, "but you're welcome to join us." 

"Noneseurse I will. I couldn't pass up the opportunity to help you usher in a brand new year of living." 

Eames, no "Robin," is always so cheesy with his fake plummy-ness and hearty attitude. But Arthur can't help being somewhat charmed by him all the same. Eames is so committed to this idea of being a modern-day gentleman thief that Arthur can't quite hold it against him, even if it is a bit silly. 

They arrive at the next place and his friends hang back at a table while Arthur and "Robin" gravitate to the bar. Even though they've all been introduced, he can tell they're uncertain about whether this is the beginning of a fortuitous birthday hookup or just a quick work-friend obligation. 

Arthur had left his and "Robin's" association incredibly vague. He was willing to bet that Tanya, more-or-less correctly, thinks they're work buddies. Luke probably thinks they were Army buddies. And George, Roger and Ben almost certainly think they were fuck buddies, or probably something more casual, considering that Arthur couldn't remember "Robin's" name, so far as they're concerned. 

Regardless, Arthur is glad to have a moment where they can probably speak freely. 

"So, _Robin_ , are you working on something at the moment?"

"Possibly. I'm scoping out ... something. A possible job. Best not to discuss it, really. But I do appreciate your discretion outside."

"Hey, I'm nothing if not discrete. It's been my watchword practically my whole life." 

Eames frowns slightly. Arthur's not sure how he's taking the comment, so he rushes to clarify.

"Nevermind ... It was just a bad joke. You know ... Army life and dating ... didn't really mix very well ... _for me_." 

"Ah ... I thought you were confessing to a past as a criminal mastermind. I was surprised. You seem such a Boy Scout." 

"I would make an _excellent_ criminal mastermind, I'll have you know. I'm smart, I'm organized, I have great decorating ideas for my lair ... "

"That is one of the most important aspects of masterminding. Many take it for granted, to their peril." 

"I would never. First of all, forget this hollowed-out volcano crap. You've got to make it unpleasant for the good guy to get there. I'm going for an ice fortress, protected by ... wait for it ... polar bears. The inside will be a maze, with the ice kept nice and slippery by a team of ... what do you call them? Zambonis, that's it. You know, those things on the hockey rink? Inside my main room, I'll have an avalanche of snow prepared to drop down on any intruders who make it that far."

"You've put some thought into this." 

"No. I'm just a natural. I can keep going even."

"Please do."

Eames looks amused. 

"Well, I'd have a team of highly trained assassins _and_ a team of highly loyal servants, all gorgeous guys in snowsuits."

"That's really asking quite a bit of people, living up in the ice and snow just to lend a hand in your schemes."

"Well the assassins would get to travel the world wiping out my enemies. And I'd have other ways to earning the loyalty of my servants, _and_ of keeping them warm."

"Oh I see ... Well you've certainly worked out all the kinks. I say you get started immediately. You should abandon your party and start recruiting a team of foot soldiers straight away." 

"Who's to say I'm not doing that right now?" Arthur asks, enjoying their innocent flirtation. Eames can always be relied upon for some quality banter.

"I'll consider it. May I inquire as to the benefits package?"

Oh fuck, is he coming on to Arthur, like for real? This is an unexpected turn. What should he say? Does he want to sleep with Eames? Surprisingly, he hasn't thought of it until just now. Sure, Eames is brutally hot, and totally Arthur's type. But he's also a fucking _criminal_ and Arthur was, until fairly recently, an upstanding member of the United States military, well upstanding other than the whole having-sex-with-men thing, which was technically not allowed. Is this really a line he wants to cross? On the one hand, it's a terrible idea. On the other, it _is_ his birthday. And Eames _does_ look awfully good in his tight jeans and corduroy jacket ... 

Just then, Tanya comes bounding up to them at the bar. Arthur shoots an annoyed look at the remainder of his friends across the room. Roger shrugs, Luke grimaces and Ben is very obviously trying not to smile, the selfish bastard. 

"I need a drink and the waitress is taking forever," she announces. "I think she forgot about our order." 

"Please, allow me to buy you one, dear girl" Eames says, laying on the charm thick as gravy. 

"You don't have to do that," Arthur says, just as she gushes, "well aren't you sweet." 

Arthur rolls his eyes. He loves Tanya the way you only do someone with whom you've grown up, but she has zero situational awareness when it comes to Arthur and other men. Or even just men, actually, as she never recognizes when someone is hitting on her, or when someone mistakes Arthur for her boyfriend. She's basically the world's worst wingman. He knew it might complicate his night when she'd come into town to help him celebrate, but he hadn't imagined this particular scenario. 

Eames and Tanya are chatting casually about her work as a nurse. Arthur suddenly worries that Eames might attempt to contact her if he's in trouble someday. Arthur has no idea if Eames is involved in the kind of work that might get a person shot. But he doesn't want Tanya to have any part of it, just in case. Dammit! This is why he can't sleep with Eames, no matter how appealing the idea might seem at the moment. Getting intimately involved with someone on the other side of the law is just not something Arthur is ready to deal with at the moment. 

Eames must notice the change in temperature from Arthur's direction, because when he finishes his drink, he signals for the check and stands up. 

"I really oughtn't crash your birthday party any longer than I already have, Arthur," he says. 

Arthur thinks about protesting, but he isn't sure enough about his motives here to make a quick decision. So he offers Eames a friendly hug and whispers something about the team probably needing him for something in a few weeks, if he's available. Then he lets his best chance of having some kind of sex tonight walk out the door. 

"He was nice," Tanya offers. "How do you know each other."

"Work," Arthur offers and leaves it at that. His friends are used to the details of his top-secret job being off limits. 

Whatever else it does, the surprise encounter with Eames seems to have lifted Arthur's mood. Perhaps all he needed was someone to flirt with him a bit. 

They hit another bar before losing Luke, and then another, this one with a decent dance floor, before Ben leaves, giving Arthur a little bit of the puppy dog-eyes treatment before he disappears into the night. 

"You've got to set that boy straight," Roger says, matter-of-fact as always. 

"Well, you don't have to turn him straight. Just let him know it's never going to happen," George corrects, laughing. 

Arthur sighs. 

"I feel like I have. I mean, God, if I didn't give in tonight, when I'm going home alone on my birthday, then what more can I fucking do to prove that it's never going to happen?"

"Poor baby," George simpers. "You could come home with us, if you like. Special birthday treat?"

Arthur and Roger simultaneously shoot him horrified looks. 

"I'm far too uptight for that," Arthur says, honestly. 

"Sweetheart, he wouldn't want what you want," Roger tells his boyfriend, diplomatically. 

"You know what he wants?"

"I know what you want." 

"You always do, don't you?"

Arthur leaves them kissing on the dance floor and heads back to the bar for another drink. He had slept with Roger a couple of times, but it had been years ago and, quite frankly, absolutely terrible during their first attempt. 

Nothing against Roger. The fault had been entirely Arthur's. Roger was Arthur's first try at picking someone up on weekend leave when he was at West Point and he'd been fucking terrified out of his mind of getting caught. He'd also been close enough to a virgin to be a bit clumsy, even if circumstances had been ideal. 

Arthur had had sex a few times before leaving for college, desperate to get it out of the way for fear he'd remain a virgin well into his twenties otherwise. But it wasn't until his junior year that he'd had the freedom and nerve--not to mention the desperation--to try something once he was officially in the military.

He'd met Roger at a bar in Brooklyn and they'd actually had a nice conversation, friendly enough to put Arthur at ease to follow him home. But he'd been so anxious that when Roger wanted to top him, Arthur agreed without telling Roger that he'd never bottomed before, nor honestly really wanted to. It had seemed like a decent option for masking his inexperience. 

But, of course, it had been a disaster. Not knowing what else to do, Arthur had confessed everything. Roger had let him spend the night and they'd tried it the other way, with much greater success, in the morning. 

Arthur was much too cautious to try to turn the encounter into a relationship. But they had remained friends,and when they both found themselves in Los Angeles years later, had started hanging out as regularly as Arthur's demanding job would allow. 

Arthur was a little bit jealous of Roger's relationship. Not that he was interested in George. And not that he thought they were perfect. In fact, he knew Roger had cheated on George the summer before when he'd been at a conference for work and they'd almost broken up over it. But he still envied their easy way together. 

Arthur was now 28 and had never had a real boyfriend. He was as cautious about selecting a partner as he was about his research at work. Maybe moreso. Yet as soon as he and whatever guy he was sleeping with started getting at all close, Arthur inevitably started to pull away. Of course, he usually didn't have to, since he purposefully selected people who were nearly as skittish as himself. The situation with Marc tonight was a perfect example. 

Someday he'd like to meet someone whom he cared about, and who cared about him in turn, enough to fight his own worst instincts. But Arthur suspects if it ever happens, it will be due to the magic of chemistry and not something he can plan or look for ahead of time. 

He sidles up to Tanya, who is leaning against the bar, shoes in hand. 

"You want to have breakfast downtown tomorrow?" 

"I'm going to be feeling it. Come to my hotel and we'll get room service. I can't imagine being with it enough to get groomed and ready to go outside." 

"Oh but you have no problem with me getting presentable to go meet you?"

"Arthur, you were born presentable."

"If only."

"Hey, none of that," she nudges him, sensing a decline back into melancholy. "So your boy toy took off. Fuck him."

"Poor word choice."

"You _know_ what I mean. Let him go. That's a dick move, no matter how casual the relationship. I mean, how much do you actually like him?"

"I really like his body. And he's funny, when he isn't being an asshole."

"Well I'm sure you can find someone else with those qualities, who _isn't_ enough of a dick to leave you alone on your birthday." 

"I probably shouldn't have invited him. Too much pressure." 

"That's bullshit. You hang out other times besides when you're having sex, right? I mean George and Roger and Ben all seemed to have met him before."

"Yeah we've all been out before, and we don't always go home together afterward, either. I guess I just didn't think that tonight would be one of those times. Stupid me." 

"What about that work guy? George said I drove him off, but that you were flirting ... Sorry clueless me strikes yet again. Maybe you can go out with him?"

"Things with him are ... _complicated_ , I guess is the best way to describe it, due to the nature of our work relationship." 

"I won't ask, because I know you won't tell." 

Arthur gives Tanya a dirty look.

"That was below the belt." 

"You wish." 

"Point taken." 

They dance for a couple more songs, but George and and Roger are very clearly eager to get home at this point, all over each other and barely restraining themselves. They each give Arthur a kiss on the cheek and hustle back to their apartment, which is within walking distance of the final bar. Arthur pulls out his phone and calls for a cab. He and Tanya can share, her hotel being just down the street from his downtown condo. 

He's stripped down to his briefs and sprawled across the bed, checking for baseball scores on his laptop, when he allows himself to imagine what might have happened if Tanya hadn't interfered he'd brought Eames home tonight. 

He's not even sure what Eames would like in bed. He's never thought about it until now. Well, at the very least, if they weren't compatible for fucking, they could suck each other off. And now that he's thinking about _that_ , he kind of can't stop. Eames' mouth is ... well it's pretty much obscene. 

Arthur reaches into his underpants and gently strokes his dick, thinking about what it might look like to have Eames' mouth wrapped around it. He tries to imagine Eames naked. Although he tends to favor clothes that are slightly baggy on him, Arthur can tell that Eames has a pretty rocking body. He's struck with a desire to see it laid out on his bed, waiting for him to lean over and ... 

Wait, he can't get ahead of himself here. Keep the fantasy simple, something he might actually be able to have. 

Arthur reaches into the bedside table for some lube and begins stroking in earnest, forcing himself to think of nothing but Eames' mouth wrapped around him and Eames' raspy stubble rubbing against his groin. 

After he comes, he pulls off the briefs and uses them to clean up, exhaustion suddenly washing over him. 

As he drifts off, he thinks, "I am so damn screwed. I'm not going to be able to see Eames again without picturing him on his knees ... hopefully we won't need him for that job next month after all."


	2. Chapter 2

Eames strolls from his hotel to the Washington, DC, rental space Dominic had sent him the address for the night previous. He always feels a touch nervous this close to the seat of the American government. But the Cobbs, who were strictly legal, mostly worked on government contracts and so it was often the most convenient option for them. 

Truth be told, Eames scarcely ever worked dreamshare jobs that posed much legal risk himself. There was no telling what would happen to a man if he were caught messing about in a person's mind for his own profit, but Eames imagined it being dire. Getting nicked for forgery or even theft was an acceptable risk. His generous bank account could buy him the best defense possible and with a little luck, he'd survive one way or the other.

Of course, some of the jobs the Cobbs, and similar teams, called him in on should be illegal, so far as he was concerned. Like the one where he'd first met Arthur with the Swiss bank account numbers. There is no way that should have been above board. But they'd had the full backing of the U.S. Department of Justice. And people wondered why Eames had turned to crime in the first place. No one for a man to trust but himself in this world. Well himself and maybe a few others, if he's lucky. 

Eames did trust his family, absolutely. He'd had little luck thus far adding anyone new to his inner circle, although not for lack of trying. Secretly Eames was a horrible romantic. Of course, it didn't do to let anyone know this in his line of work, so he hid it behind a veneer of flirtation and old-fashioned heartiness, treating everyone like his best mate, so no one could tell whom he actually valued. 

Poor, repressed Arthur had been utterly baffled by Eames at first. That's not fair, he really shouldn't call Arthur uptight, not now that he understands the reason for his distance. 

He was honestly somewhat disappointed in himself for not putting it together on his own until he'd had that drink with Arthur a few months prior and Arthur had mad the crack about Army life. 

Speaking of, he must admit he's a bit nervous about seeing Arthur again. He's not sure if he'd pushed too hard on the flirtation when they'd last seen each other. Arthur might be the sort to hold a grudge against a fellow for toying with the idea of going to bed together when they were both pissed. Or almost pissed, or whatever. 

He'd actually thought Arthur was straight for the first few jobs they'd worked together. He'd tried to chat him up a bit right off, and Arthur had recoiled so obviously--politely but still unmistakably--that Eames figured he'd never been flirted with by a bloke before. Eames had actually tried to make it better by practically throwing himself at everyone in sight, male or female, just so Arthur wouldn't harbor any grudges against him. And it seemed to work. Arthur relaxed and even seemed to flirt a bit himself once he'd got the idea the Eames wasn't singling him out for attention

But then, a few months back, Eames had unmistakably seen Arthur's eyes rake over the body of a man they passed on the street, and he'd changed his mental assessment from straight to hopeless closet case. 

Seeing him with his mates that night in Los Angeles had been a bit of a revelation. It turned out Arthur was completely comfortable with his sexuality. He just kept it away from the workplace, not a surprise considering what Eames now knew of his background. 

Eames buzzes the number for the Cobb's unit and is thrilled to hear that Arthur's voice on the other end of the line sounds as welcoming as ever.

By late afternoon, Eames is reading through the files Arthur had compiled for him.The day has progressed quite well. The job should be simple, just the four of them working at the behest of some horrid defense contractor. 

Luckily Dominic is off meeting with the clients and Eames will never have to see any of them. He doesn't like to have his face known, if he can at all avoid it, due to his other, less above board, work. Mal seems to have disappeared as well, perhaps she's gone with him? Or maybe she's gone back to their rooms to see the sprogs, whom the Cobbs apparently brought with them this time. She's been a little more reserved than usual today, perhaps she's still tired from the trip. 

Arthur walks up and and leans against Eames' desk, facing him. 

"Are you staying nearby?"

"Yes, just down the way. I had a nice walk over this morning. You?" 

"I'm just next door. Wanted to be close." 

Eames nods, not sure of the point of this conversation. 

"Dinner?"

"Sure. Do you know a place?"

"One of my former classmates recommended something. Right around the corner on 14th, across from the Treasury." 

"Excellent. Should we wait for Dom to return, or are they having a family meal?"

"Just us."

"Can you give me a few minutes? I just want to finish reading this last bit."

"That's fine. I want to go back and freshen up a bit anyway." 

Eames looks up, concerned.

"How posh is this place? You look much more presentable than I at the moment." 

"It's not fancy," Arthur says, looking Eames over. "And you look great."

Then he leans forward, so his hand is casually resting on Eames' thigh and whispers, "It's not the other people in the restaurant I want to look good for," before standing and heading for the door, leaving Eames at his desk, mouth agape at Arthur's boldness.

"Reservation's at seven," he calls over his shoulder as he leaves. 

Well this is certainly a different side to Arthur than Eames has seen before. 

He thanks his lucky stars that he'd been wandering alone around Santa Monica that night the previous month. Even though his come-on hadn't worked that evening, it certainly seems to have changed things between them in the meantime. He supposes Arthur had just needed time to mull the idea over in his deliberate way. 

He waits five minutes, to be sure Arthur's left the building, and practically jogs back to his hotel. Arthur may have given his approval to Eames' current appearance, but now that he knows this is a date, he wants to up his game a bit. Also, it won't hurt to surprise Arthur in turn. 

He showers, but leaves the stubble, and changes into a pair of herringbone trousers that are a bit too warm for the Washington humidity, even this time of year. But he knows they make his arse look sublime. He leaves his pants off, too, just in case the outline of his prick against the fabric is more likely to get Arthur's attention than the rear view. He adds a grey pullover that stretches _just_ a bit across his chest and a pair of loafers that are easy enough to slip out of, should the need arise. 

He can't quite believe this is happening. 

It's not that he's fancied Arthur all these months. Well not especially anyway. It's just that Arthur is clearly fit under all those nice clothes. And his face is gorgeous in a way that dawns on one anew each time you see him. But aside from that one night in California, he's seemed very much out of Eames' reach. So Eames hasn't spent too much time fussing about the attraction until now.

Arthur smirks when he sees Eames' new outfit when they meet outside the restaurant.

"Couldn't leave well enough alone, could you?" 

"Are you complaining?" Eames asks, and strides ahead of Arthur through the door. 

"No I'm really not," Arthur replies, not hiding the fact that he's checking Eames out. 

They're seated right off and Eames orders a cocktail immediately. He suddenly feels the need for a bolster of liquid courage. 

He couldn't explain why he's nervous, considering he's been flirting with Arthur as long as he's known him. It just feels like a momentous occasion, being encouraged rather than rejected for once. Perhaps this is Arthur's secret strategy. Casually rebuff blokes over and over until asking one of them to dinner seems like like the sexiest, most aggressive thing one could possibly do. It's working.

"So, how was the rest of your birthday celebration then?"

"Oh it was fun. We went dancing. My friend Roger's boyfriend tried to get met to come home with them." 

Eames raises an eyebrow. 

"Oh?"

"Don't get your hopes up. I declined." 

"I have no hopes, darling." 

Now Arthur raises an eyebrow. 

"You wouldn't be here if you didn't have hopes." 

"Fine. I have some hopes, but nothing ... " he hesitates trying to find a word that isn't judgmental toward Arthur's friends, but that reflects Arthur's apparent distaste for group sex. "tawdry?" 

Arthur relaxes minutely, so it must have worked.

"I do know you after all. At least a little." 

"Am I that obviously uptight?"

"No. You just obviously like what you like and disregard the rest."

Arthur offers a tiny smile. 

"You are always so diplomatic."

"Might one say you like that about me?" 

The smile shifts into a smirk.

"One might."

"The only thing?" Eames presses his luck, feeling more bold as his cocktail arrives and he takes a generous gulp. 

"I like working with you. And I like the way you look in those pants." 

"I thought you might." 

"And I like that you were the best part of what started out as a bad night and ended up a good one when we ran into each other in Santa Monica." 

"You seemed quite amused when we first ran into each other. I didn't realise it was a bad night." 

"Just stupid bullshit. I shouldn't have brought it up." 

Eames is torn. Usually this is the sort of crack in Arthur's veneer that would make him press for an answer. But he's trying to be on his best date-night behavior at the moment and doesn't want to risk souring the mood. Also, he has a feeling the answer involves someone Arthur fancies, or fancied anyway, and it might make Eames just the tiniest bit jealous to know he was the second choice for the evening, particularly considering that he didn't even manage to get anywhere. 

"Well I'm glad to know I improved the evening," he says. 

Just then the waiter pops over to take their orders. Eames has barely glanced at the menu, but he manages to make a quick decision. Arthur, naturally, looked at the menu ahead of time online and has questions about certain items. 

Prompted by the waiter, Arthur hands Eames the wine list and asks him to pick, which is a surprise. 

"Sorry, I'm terrible at that. I like drinking it well enough, but I don't much at all about wine." 

"I wouldn't have guessed. You look like the sort who would have a nice collection at home." 

"I'm more of a bourbon guy. Someday maybe. I'm still getting used to civilian life, honestly. There wasn't exactly a great deal of nice wine available where I've been for the past few years." 

"I would have guessed, given your PASIV experience, that you were locked in some sub-basement of the Pentagon. But I suppose not ... "

"Not hardly." 

"Well you hide it well. Until quite recently I thought you were a repressed engineering graduate student or something." 

Arthur pauses, smiling slightly, but Eames can't tell if he's amused or hiding wounded feelings.

"You know ... you know how you don't like to meet the clients to protect your identity, due to your other ... _activities_?"

Eames nods.

"Well, I don't really like being noticed by them, either. But I'm not a consultant like you, so I have to meet them sometimes. So I hide myself behind a bland office drone exterior, hoping no one will remember me, specifically, just a guy in a nice-but-not-too-nice dress shirt who didn't say much beyond necessities and drank black coffee." 

Eames wrinkles his nose. 

"Disgusting. Cream and sugar is a must." 

Arthur levels a look at him. 

"That's your takeaway here?"

"Sorry I was distracted. What you say makes a lot of sense. Although ... I can't speak for those clients you meet, but I don't think I could ever forget your face, once I'd seen it." 

Arthur rolls his eyes. 

"I'm serious. This isn't a line. You have a very memorable face." 

Arthur flushes the tiniest bit. 

"The point stands. It worked on you. You thought I was boring and repressed ... Well maybe I'm a little repressed." 

"I never said you were boring!" 

They pause as the waiter brings their first course.

"I also thought you were straight." 

Arthur snorts a tiny bit.

"Most people do. It was kind of a necessity for me for a long time." 

Eames wonders what would have made Arthur choose a life where he couldn't be himself for so many years. Had he been in denial? Did his patriotism trump his libido? It's not really the sort of question he can ask in this getting-to-know-the-real-you phase, but he can't deny his curiosity. 

"Yes, but I tried to chat you up that first job and you, it was like you _recoiled_. Well I think we've all been to that place at least once, the accidental-flirting-with-straight-boy place. It's not an issue one presses after a reaction like that."

Arthur laughs. 

"Will you be offended if I say I don't remember that at all?"

"Not particularly. But only because we're here now." 

Eames grins so Arthur knows he isn't completely serious. 

"I'm sure I was just taken aback. I'd spent so many years--nine years, Eames--not asking and not telling. I was probably just ... didn't know how to react to that kind of thing happening in public in my workplace. It's like when I came back from ... being stationed overseas for a long while and I stopped in New York on my way home and I had this kind of culture shock at seeing men and women touching each other openly on the street. I'd never thought that would seem weird to me, but I hadn't seen it in so long." 

Their food arrives and they keep talking, slowly revealing bits of their true selves beyond than their usual just-for-fun banter. They don't discuss work once, which is lovely. 

As their places are cleared, it dawns on Eames anew that he and Arthur are almost certainly going to have sex. Soon. 

He'd sort of forgotten about it as they spoke, but the low-burning attraction he's always had for Arthur is starting to crescendo into lust. When he orders a dessert, he leans forward and lets his calf brush ever so slightly against Arthur's, transitioning from serious conversation back to flirtation. 

Arthur doesn't have dessert, just that hideous black coffee. But Eames does persuade Arthur to eat half of his own _pot de crème_. He also makes sure to lick the spoon clean, drawing Arthur's attention to his mouth. 

He lets Arthur pay, no arguments, just so they're clear that this is a date and not a meal between co-workers. If all goes well from here on out, he will absolutely return the favor. 

He also lets Arthur hold the door for him when they walk out. Being a hopeless romantic in a line of work that encourages paranoia means taking your small pleasures where you can get them. 

Arthur surprises him by not being at all coy as soon as they get outside. 

"Will you come to my hotel?" he asks, straight off. 

Eames wishes Arthur had kissed him first, to be honest. But it's clear that Arthur is not one for public displays of affection and Eames isn't going to let it stand in the way of a good time. 

Arthur must mistake his thought-filled delay in answering for hesitation, because he amends, "or we could go to yours." 

"Arthur I'd be delighted to go to your hotel," Eames replies and quick-as-can-be lifts his hand to brush the side of Arthur's neck, before pulling it away again. Arthur inhales sharply. But Eames feels better having marked the moment with some small physicality at least, and he walks with a bounce in his step back toward the office space, knowing Arthur's hotel is somewhere right near there. 

They're quiet on the walk back. It's not quite companionable, because there's this mounting tension about what's soon to happen between them. Eames can't think about anything else, let alone talk about it. But he senses Arthur's hesitation about being in public, down the road from their temporary workplace, so he keeps mum and focuses his attention on wondering what Arthur will be like in bed. 

Technically, Eames is versatile. He's willing to do most anything for the right partner, in the right situation. But he prefers to get fucked above all else. Arthur strikes Eames as a top, but there's so much about his sexuality that Eames had misunderstood already that he doesn't want to presume anything more going forward. 

Whatever else he is, Arthur is projecting an easy confidence about the coming encounter, and isn't acting at all nervous, which Eames likes. 

That had been the large part of what ratcheted up Eames' attraction that evening back in California--the sense that Arthur is completely comfortable, indeed confident, about who he is, even if his sexuality isn't a part of his workplace presentation. And the cool, off-hand way he'd asked Eames to dinner, thinking about it now makes something bloom in Eames' belly. 

He can admit to himself now how much he'd secretly hoped for this every time he'd worked with the Cobbs this past year. He isn't a fool. Someone as guarded as Arthur is almost certainly not looking for a boyfriend. But Eames would be more than happy to pass the time with him in whatever way he might be allowed when they work together going forward. 

The elevator to Arthur's floor is unfortunately crowded. But the moment Arthur slips the door of his room shut behind them he steps close to Eames and cradles his face between his hands, before leaning forward and kissing him. 

It's sweet, at first, as if Arthur knows Eames wanted this in front of the restaurant and is apologizing for not being able to give it to him. But it devolves into passion fairly quickly thereafter.

Arthur is running his hands all over Eames, who enjoys the attention for a minute before pulling them roughly together against the door, grinding their hardening pricks against each other. Arthur lets out the tiniest of hungry noises in response, and then pulls away and opens his mouth as if to speak, but then gets distracted by running his palms down Eames' chest and leaning forward to kiss his neck. 

Minutes pass and they only manage to make it to the room's sofa, still clothed, snogging and grinding up against each other like teenagers. 

Finally, unable to take the lack of progress toward nudity a moment longer, Eames pulls back and asks, "what do you want, darling?"

For the first time all day, Arthur looks the slightest bit apprehensive. 

"What do _you_ want, Eames?"

It would appear, from this hesitation, that Arthur is not versatile and is rather hoping that he and Eames are compatible, but isn't able to guess the answer. Eames doesn't want to disappoint. But he also prefers not to lie, as that wouldn't be in his own best interest, either, particularly if they do this again.

Going for the less-than-subtle approach, he palms Arthur's cock through his trousers and half-whispers, "I was rather hoping you'd fuck me." 

Even with lust-addled, sleepy eyes, Arthur's face lights up like the dawn sky. 

"Oh thank god," he says, and kisses Eames quickly before pulling him up off the sofa and pushing him gently down onto the bed. 

He's moving with a purpose now, and Arthur wastes no time in stripping Eames out of his shirt and unbuttoning his trousers, huffing a surprised breath when he sees Eames has gone commando for the evening. 

"Prepared for anything, I see," he says. 

"I wasn't sure where you'd be looking, so ... " 

Arthur stills, considering this statement, and Eames doesn't want him to get the wrong idea, so he pipes up with "but don't misunderstand me, this is certainly my first choice ... " 

Arthur smiles again briefly and bends down to press wet kisses across Eames' belly. 

"That's what I like to hear," he murmurs against Eames' skin and somehow it's the sexiest thing that's happened so far, with his warm breath blowing gently over the damp patches he left on Eames' stomach. 

Arthur crawls off the bed pulling Eames' trousers as he goes and strips quickly down to his own pants before walking over to his suitcase--properly put away on a luggage stand in the closet, of course--and returning with supplies. 

As soon as Arthur returns to the bed, Eames reaches for his lithe waist, hooking his fingers in under the elastic of Arthur's pants. 

"Let's be seeing you then," he says, tone joking, but meaning the words. 

He's eager to see Arthur's prick properly, not just pressing up against the silk of some very expensive looking briefs. Trust Arthur to go all out, even when it comes to underpants. Of course, perhaps he wore these special for Eames ... . That thought makes Eames shiver with delight and he doesn't hesitate another second to pull downward, allowing Arthur's cock to spring free.

And it's lovely--long, cut, not fat, but with a decent girth. He rubs his thumb over the head, feeling greedy to have it inside him. Arthur shudders and leans down to kiss Eames again, pushing him against the mattress while Eames' hand strokes him gently. 

But it's not long before Arthur is slithering down Eames' body and bending one of his legs up, so his foot is flat on the bed. He holds up a tube of slick, unused by the look of it ... which means Arthur brought it with him _planning_ for this. Oh God, Eames lets out an actual whimper at the thought, before Arthur has so much as opened the cap. 

He loses track of his internal monologue for a few minutes once Arthur has a finger inside him, learning his body. At some point Arthur leans forward and sucks Eames' cock right into his mouth and then adds a second finger as Eames gasps with pleasure and surprise. 

Arthur may talk like he's been hiding away all these years, but he must have been shagging _someone_ whilst he was in the military, because he certainly knows what he's doing, coordinating his mouth and his hand, curling his tongue and his fingers to make Eames moan with delight. 

He must have said that bit out loud, because Arthur pulls off and smirks at him. Eames shrugs as best he can flat on his back. He's not embarrassed. 

"Yes darling you're a wonderful lover so far, now please get back to it so we can progress to the real thing." 

Arthur laughs and pumps his fingers deeper and harder than ever, making Eames squirm and pant. 

After a few minutes he uses the same trick to add a third and Eames feels so full, so overcome that he's flinging pillows across the room and fisting the sheets, pulling them untucked. 

"Do you want to come like this first," Arthur pulls off Eames' prick and whispers in his ear. 

He's so lost to sensation that he can't quite decide what it is he wants. Yes he wants to come. No wait, he wants to come on Arthur's cock. He doesn't know. He thinks he says so. But Arthur must make a decision, because he's opening his mouth and sucking Eames' prick back down his throat and curling his fingers so they send electric shocks up into Eames' belly. 

He doesn't think it takes long. Probably. When he comes, it's so hard that he feels like a pane of glass shattering into a thousand pieces. 

"Tell me when you're ready," Arthur says, voice soft, as he's rolling on a condom. 

Eames looks up at Arthur and he sees a relaxed smile and loose, sweaty curls. He nods. 

But before Arthur can ask, or just decide on his own, Eames flips over onto his stomach and presses up to his knees and elbows. The idea of looking Arthur in the face as they fuck is just too overwhelming, to dangerous to someone like Eames, who absolutely cannot allow himself to expect anything from this. 

Arthur doesn't object. In fact he runs an appreciative palm over Eames' arse, before grabbing his hips and lining up. 

Eames is too sensitized to appreciate the details of the fuck. He's not quite sure what, exactly, Arthur is doing. Only that it feels so very, very good--just a bit of a stretch, but mostly a hot, tingling pleasure as Arthur thrusts and rolls and finds all the same spots he had earlier with his fingers. 

Arthur is rather quiet, or perhaps Eames is just making enough noise for the both of them. But although Eames can't see his face, he feels fairly sure Arthur is enjoying himself from the movements of his body and the rushes of breath Eames can feel on his back when Arthur presses against it. 

Arthur must be getting close, because he reaches his hand around to feel if Eames' prick has hardened again. It's not quite all the way there yet, but when Arthur spits into his palm--Eames can hear it and it sends a shudder of excitement through his body--and gives it a few tugs, Eames is back to full staff. 

Arthur's movements are growing increasingly erratic and he even lets out a few soft grunts. He's working his hand and wrist so very fast and it feels delightful, but Eames isn't quite sure he can come just yet. He whines, rolling back into Arthur's thrusts, trying so hard. 

Eames is getting there, tension coiling in his thighs, when Arthur lets out the softest of moans and stills inside him. Eames can feel the warmth of his come through the condom. He collapses on Eames' back, breathing hard, pounding heart tangible between their skin. 

But hardly a minute passes before he's flipping Eames roughly over and working his hand again, the other reaching back to slide two fingers into Eames arse. Oh fuck, he's pushing right down on his prostate, so hard that it is almost unbearable 

"So conscientious," Eames croaks out, voice horse from all the noise he's been making, and then spills all over Arthur's hand. 

They lie sprawled separately across the mattress cooling down and resting for a few moments, before Eames gets up and walks to the bathroom to clean off a bit. He closes the door behind him, not feeling like they're quite close enough for casual conversation as Eames wipes the remnants of their fuck off his stomach and thighs. 

Also, he needs a moment to decide whether he's supposed to leave now or not. Should he ask? Just assume and start putting his kit back on? Go lie back down and make Arthur kick him out? He's not sure and doesn't want to presume the wrong thing and make a mistake. 

"You can stay," Arthur says, when Eames reappears. 

The relief is probably apparent on his face. He couldn't bear the thought of walking back to his hotel and sleeping alone right now, feeling lonely rather than satiated. 

"But ... " Arthur hesitates, "We shouldn't, you know, go into the office together tomorrow morning. Is that all right?"

Eames rolls his eyes. So predictable. 

"Of course," he says, but he's laughing as he stretches back out on the mattress.


End file.
